One Bad Day
by Spikesgirl58
Summary: Just what did it take to break up the team of Solo and Kuryakin.  A nod of the head to Pablow for her suggestion with this!  Warnings: het, with slash suggested.  Prelude to ABBA/Foothills


Napoleon Solo let the curtain fall back in place and sighed. He hated being on sick leave. He was fine, he felt fine, he looked fine - everything in his life was…well, mostly fine. Yet here he sat, banned from HQ for just because he got momentarily distracted during a routine test – a conversation that Illya was having with another doctor; that that Napoleon supposed Illya had never intended him to hear.

He'd been stripping off in a nearby dressing room when he'd heard Illya's voice, slightly muffled, but Illya's voice none-the-less. Napoleon had immediately been on alert. Illya had been acting off for about a month now. It was something… medically wrong?

He sighed again and went back to the couch, easing himself down despite the lack of pain. His fractures had long since healed, his stitches had been pulled and nothing save a long red line marked their wake. What hurt now was the conversation that had played out between his lover and the doctor.

"You're sure about this?"

"Yes, we've done the tests twice. You need to slow down, cut back. I'd recommend a long trip or at least a week of bed rest."

"I can't. Napoleon…

"Don't use your partner as an excuse for this. You keep up with your present course of action and it will kill you."

"You don't understand. I owe this to Napoleon. He's come to depend upon me for this."

"No matter what I say it won't make any difference, will it? You're not going to stop, are you? All right, come back tomorrow. There are some shots that will help. They'll make you sicker than a dog, but they should help."

"Fine…"

"Mr. Kuryakin, I'm serious."

"As am I. I'll be here."

Napoleon couldn't believe that Illya was willing to risk death just so they could what? The doctor hadn't said, but Napoleon took a guess. He'd been riding Illya hard lately, taking him even when Napoleon knew his partner was bone tired. Yet Illya always responded to him, always came to him willingly if not always enthusiastically.

Napoleon had come to a decision at that moment. After failing the test, he'd quickly dressed, went to the bank, drew out a small fortune and bought a ring. He'd show Illya that there was more to his being there than just sex, for he'd already decided what Illya had been to the doctor for. The man was barely able to get out of bed some mornings and he was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow. Yet he never refused Napoleon, never begged off or showed disinterest. Men couldn't fake that as easily was women.

Napoleon had prepared a nice meal, chilled champagne and carefully arranged his evening. He'd sweep Illya off his feet and there would be no doubt afterwards in Illya's mind of just how much Napoleon loved him.

Instead, Illya had come home obviously not feeling well and in a dark mood and it had only gotten worse. They ended up in a horrific fight, just one of many these days. There had been a reluctant peace at the end of the evening, but the ring stayed in Napoleon's pocket.

It had gotten worse with each day. Illya still was there, still didn't deny him, but there was almost a sense of duty to his actions.

Napoleon sank to the couch and rubbed his head. He'd do anything to go back just a couple of years, when the lovemaking had been so easy, so much more casual between them. He'd already come to the decision that he was going to wait until Illya came to him, asking to be loved. And Napoleon didn't care if it took…

There was a knock on the door and Napoleon stood easily. He really was fine for field work and the sooner UNCLE saw that, the better. He looked out the peephole and saw a nurse's uniform. Pistol in hand, he eased open the door.

"May I help you?"

"Yes. Are you Mr. Solo?

"I am."

"Medical sent me by."

That seemed odd to Napoleon, but he was distracted. The woman was incredibly beautiful, absolutely everything he wanted in a female. He felt his penis stir with a restlessness he'd not known for quite some time. It had been years since a woman had made him feel so… interested.

"I have my credentials right here." She drew out a slim ID wallet from her purse and Napoleon scanned it. It was perfect right down to the ID strip Illya had helped design, so why was Napoleon's sixth sense screaming at him?

"Of course, won't you come in?" He didn't even remember consciously deciding upon those words. Instead, he held onto the doorframe as a wave of dizziness washed over him.

"Mr. Solo!" Her arms were around him and his head buzzed. He shook it and took a deep breath.

"I'm fine. How can I help you?"

"There are some medical releases we need for you to sign. Dr. Barnhart is ready to re-cert you, but needs your signature. Since I live just down the street, I offered to drop them by."

_Illya, Illya, Illya_, Napoleon kept the mantra up in his head as he fought to keep things under control. The nurse had just entered and he was already sporting an erection that belied any recent 'involvement.' He'd not felt an attraction to anyone else after the first night he'd spent with Illya. After that, everyone else paled and evaporated from his sight. For years, it had only been Illya in his arms and heart.

"I'll be happy to sign them, Miss…?" Napoleon led the way to the dining room table, pushing aside a notebook that Illya had been scribbling in at breakfast.

"Lil. You can just call me Lil." She slipped off her coat and Napoleon just managed to bite back a moan. She was voluptuous, curves in all the right spots, soft and so appealing.

"Thank you, Miss… Lil." Napoleon reached for the pen and it slipped from his fingers. "I'm sorry."

"That's okay, mistakes happen." She bent over, offering a view of her cleavage and this time, Napoleon wasn't able to keep silent, sighing out his pleasure, his head spinning. "Oh, do you like what you see, Mr. Solo?" She drew a lazy finger across her very ample chest and let just the tip of her tongue peek out between her lips. "I know I do…"

The next thing Napoleon knew he was back against the wall, holding on for dear life as the woman took him on the blow job ride of his life. He'd never experienced anything so exciting, so exhilarating and debilitating at the same time. It was as if every nerve in his body was singing and screaming at the same time.

He was just on the brink of a climax that he knew would be a one-of-a-lifetime experience when he looked up and saw Illya. Saw the absolute devastation in those blue eyes, the shock and disbelief on the face he'd come to think of as his salvation. He tried to call to him as Illya retreated a step and then another, but his will wasn't his own. Instead he heard himself moaning and begging for more until he no longer had the will or the strength to do anything more than collapse into a near comatose heap on the floor.

Lilith smiled as she reapplied her makeup and straightened her uniform. What God had joined together, let not man put asunder. Too bad that didn't work with women… or succubae. It had taken her much longer with this one than she expected. But it didn't matter. This one's lover wouldn't be back. There was no power in heaven or hell that would reunite these two.

She picked up her purse and heard a noise. He was crying; wasn't that sweet?

Lilith walked over to him and ran a hand through his dark hair. "Nothing personal, my love. This is just my job; surely you, of all people, can understand that."

And she wandered out into the night, looking for her next victim.


End file.
